Another peaceful evening. After dinner, Jeanne slipped out of the hall first and stepped onto the lawn.
She knelt, knees together, and gazed up at the starry sky.
She wondered whether Laurent might be looking at the same beautiful night.
Are we almost there?
It won't take much longer—just a few more battles, and it will be over.
A gentle smile creased her lips.
There was still one thing unresolved in her heart. That day, after Laurent had grown angry, she hadn't tried to comfort him. Later someone had written to say they'd found charred clothing behind the house. She didn't know what clothes they'd been, but Laurent must have been terribly upset.
Somehow… she felt she owed him an apology in more ways than one. Once this was finished, she hoped he would forgive her.
Jeanne lowered her head and looked at the cross around her neck. It had stayed by her side for two years. Even now, when she touched it, it felt warm. Lost in thought, she pressed the cross to her cheek to feel that warmth.
"Holy Maiden, are you thinking about something?"
A voice interrupted the quiet, and Jeanne turned.
Not far away, Gilles de Rais had settled on the grass beside her.
Jeanne didn't hide anything. "Yes. I was thinking about Laurent."
"To be thought of so often by the Holy Maiden, surely he's thinking of you too."
He noticed the cross she held. "You treasure that cross dearly, don't you?"
"Yes. Laurent gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday."
Jeanne didn't realize how tender her smile was whenever she said that. Gilles softened in turn.
"So that's how it is—it truly is a precious talisman. Your childhood with Laurent must have been very happy."
"Happy…?" She laughed lightly, recalling distant days. "When I was small I understood little. Laurent taught me many things—how to write my name, for one. I kept my hair short and was a tomboy, always playing with the boys and getting teased, but Laurent always helped me."
Gilles listened quietly. "Later he told me girls should behave more like girls, so I grew my hair out. It was inconvenient for chores, but Laurent was always gentle and seemed to know so much more than I did."
"Then why didn't he come fight by your side?" Gilles asked.
Jeanne lowered her eyes; sadness passed over her face. "He was angry. When I told him everything, he objected most strongly."
Gilles hadn't meant to bring up painful memories; seeing her sadness, he hurried to change the subject. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't know—"
"It's all right. It was my fault. You have no reason to apologize, Gilles." She forced a small smile and tried to hide her feelings. "That day he was truly furious—it was the first time he'd ever been angry at me."
"I'm sure he was angry because he cares for you, Holy Maiden. He didn't want you to risk yourself."
"Yes, I know that too."
She recalled Laurent's face that day; after that, she had felt a distance between them for the first time. Is it because I don't understand people's hearts…?
"Enough about me. Gilles, what about you?"
Jeanne wouldn't regret the path she'd chosen. To do so would be to betray both herself and Laurent.
"…Me?" Gilles hadn't expected the question. He sighed deeply. "My father went to war when I was born. I was raised by tutors and, to ease the loneliness, I studied literature and ancient tongues and grew obsessed with the arts."
A smile rose and fell on his face. "Later my parents and uncle died in battle, and I was adopted by my maternal grandfather. He was violent; he saw me as a tool and forced me into a political marriage. When my cousin refused a similar fate, she was locked away. To avoid that, I agreed and became his puppet."
"These things changed me. I stopped trusting people. I turned cruel and ruthless toward our English enemies—like my grandfather. Until I met you, Holy Maiden."
His voice trembled with longing. "When I first saw you pray for captured enemies instead of executing them, I felt I was nothing—a worm on the ground, gazing up at you."
"I'm not as great as you say. I'm just an ordinary village girl."
"No, my Holy Maiden—do not deny your greatness. If you did, you'd deny my faith. Everything you do is glorious."
Jeanne's cheeks flushed at the praise, then she pushed the feeling aside and rose.
"Gilles, perhaps it's true—we mustn't linger on the past. We should look forward. The Lord lights every path we take. Even you, Gilles, have always been protected by His light, even if you don't know it."
Hearing that, Gilles raised his head, unbelieving. In his eyes Jeanne shone like a descended god; tears filled them. He could hold back no longer and pressed his forehead to the ground in a deep bow.
"I—Gilles de Rais—swear this day: as long as I draw breath, I will follow the path of the Holy Maiden!"
Jeanne crouched again and reached out her hand. "There's no need for that, Gilles. You and I both fight for France."
He stared at her hand but dared not touch it. The Holy Maiden was sacred—someone like him had no right to touch her. Still, for such a being, he would give everything; for her, it would be worth it.